


Evidence of Us.

by Lydia_E_Nheers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, I tried writing a pwp, M/M, Masturbation, Music kink...is that a thing?, Oral Sex, Porn, Sherlock can be romantic, This fell out, Workplace wanking, a little bit fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8541232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_E_Nheers/pseuds/Lydia_E_Nheers
Summary: Sherlock slips a memory stick with a note for him to view its contents alone into John's pocket one morning. What's on there, John can only guess.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I tried as a challenge to write a PWP. This fell out. I hope you like it.
> 
> Unbeta'd and unbritpicked. And written on my phone.

It was between Emma Thornby's flu and Eric Michaelson's thrush that John reached into his pocket and pulled out the memory stick he had discovered in his jacket pocket upon arriving to work this morning. It was wrapped in a piece of paper that bore Sherlock's unmistakable scrawl "For your eyes only. Headphones strongly advised. SH"

John had been nearly bursting with curiosity all morning. It was obvious that Sherlock sneaked it into his pocket either late the night before, or early that morning. But he hadn't mentioned it at all that morning. Sherlock acted perfectly normal.

They had woken up together as usual, John had showered, Sherlock had joined him in the shower, John had prepared tea and toast for them both after the inevitable morning shag and dressing were done, while Sherlock had lounged in that ridiculous dressing gown of his.

They had eaten in comfortable silence together and John had kissed him goodbye and left, after asking him to text if anything important came up. He knew that there wasn't a case on, off last one having been solved just two days previously. Usually, about now would be when Sherlock would be growing tetchy, but so far, he has been fine. John only prayed the good mood would last until the next grisly murder.

He got up from his desk and went over to the door and closed it. The nurse had gone to lunch, closing and locking the office behind her. But still. Better to be safe. Hopefully whatever Sherlock wanted him to see would be over quickly and hopefully not too disgusting, so he could scarf down a sandwich before dealing with the ornery and hypochondriacal Mr. Michaelson.

John sat back down and put the memory stick into the usb port on his laptop and plugged in his headphones per the note. There was a single file. Only labeled "To John"

He clicked it, curiosity growing. It was password protected. Because of _course_ it was. He pulled out his mobile with an eyeroll, about to text Sherlock when he put it down. Obviously, he was meant to figure it out on his own. It was addressed to him, so of course the password would have something to do with him. He thought for a moment, and typed "Watson" nope. Okay. John thought and then slowly typed out "Vaticancameos" no. Okay. Impatient now, he picked up his mobile again, about to just text his enigmatic twat of a boyfriend for the answer when he noticed a little link that said "Hint." He clicked it, and the words "The start of it all" came up on the screen.

John put the phone back down. "Pink" he tried. It worked, and a video began loading on the screen. He smiled. Sherlock, despite denying it til he was blue in the face was truly and deeply romantic.

It had been about eleven months since John had moved home. To stay. Mary was gone. America was what John had been told. Witness protection. For both her and the baby that wasn't his. John didn't miss her. He had thought he might. But instead, when she left, he could only feel relief. He had knocked on Sherlock's door that very afternoon and never looked back.

Four months to the day later, Sherlock had been pacing the sitting room, bored and obviously depressed. Three days without something to work on would do that. John had only been able to watch him for a while, his eyes wild, and desperate and fingers twitching spastically, before he stood, caught him by the shoulders and wrapped him in a hug. It had been a loose one, easiest thing in the world for Sherlock to break. But instead, Sherlock had surprised him and stayed still. Eventually he had hugged him back. John could feel the wild thumping of his heart slowing down as his body began to relax. He had rubbed small circles on his back and whispered comforting nonsense. Eventually, Sherlock had let go and so John did too. Sherlock hadn't said anything about it, and went into his room without another word, closing the door after himself.

But something changed between them that rainy Sunday afternoon. The kissing came a week later. They were riding the adrenaline high of nearly being killed while chasing down a murderer. They had walked home and the moment the door was closed behind them, they were snogging against the wall.

So seven months had passed. Seven months of love and sex. Rows and making up. Whispered conversations and confessions made in the dark. Laughter and hand holding in the back of cabs. Tears and comfort. Chasing down criminals and sharing a crackling look over a dead body. Tea and toast with jam and bickering about toes in the crisper. John had never been happier and though he had never said as much aloud, he knew Sherlock felt the same.

The video finished loading and so John hit play. It was their sitting room, camera pointed at the coffee table. Sherlock came into view, wearing his blue dressing gown and nothing else. He was carrying his violin. John tilted his head curiously and made sure the volume was on and his headphones were in the jack properly. Sherlock's back was to the camera now as the silk robe slid from his shoulders, revealing his long, naked back, and his beautiful arse. John's mouth immediately began to water and he licked his lips unconsciously. It was like a bloody pavlovian reaction. He sees Sherlock's naked arse and his mouth waters.

Something else caught John's attention. Right...there. In the cleft of his arse cheeks...Was that...? Oh my god, it was. The flared tip was unmistakable. John let out a slightly shuddery breath. He knew how much Sherlock got off when that particular toy came out to play. Sherlock himself slowly turned and faced the camera and smiled wickedly. John could see the glint and fire in Sherlock's eyes that usually signified the beginning of a mindblowing shag. His cock gave a very interested twitch in his pants. A pavlovian reaction of its own.

He looked down Sherlock's perfect body, past the flat planes of his stomach down to his beautiful cock, hanging flaccid between his legs. The plug must not be on. It was circumcised, unlike his own and while not as thick, it was long and perfectly balanced with the rest of his body. Sherlock brought the violin to his chin, resting his chin on the rest, bringing John's attention back up to his hands; long like the rest of him, accompanied with beautiful fingers. Pianist fingers. Perfect when wrapped around John's cock...

John flushed and paused the video, looking around guiltily. He knew the nurse was gone, and she would knock either way. And he had forty minutes. But...still.

The thought of potentially getting caught should have had John immediately shutting the computer off. But instead, his cock was showing a very different reaction indeed. "Sherlock...you bad man" he murmured as he shifted in his chair and hit play once more.

Sherlock reached behind himself and a very faint buzzing began. John saw him let out a breath as his eyes widened for a second. He moved and began to play.

The music that poured forth was unlike any song John had heard before. It was obviously an original composition, and memorized at that as John couldn't see any sheet music. He watched Sherlock's eyes flutter closed as he body began to sway to the music.

And the music... Oh the _music_. It was like nothing John had heard before. It was electrifying and passionate. Fiery and fierce. Yet balanced with a subtle, melancholic sweetness.

John watched his hands coaxing this unbelievable sound from the wooden instrument. He couldn't take his eyes off of him. He felt his heartbeat increase with the music. And weirdly enough, his cock hardened even further, straining uncomfortably in his jeans.

As Sherlock played and the tempo of the music grew and grew, John noticed Sherlock's cock swelling and thickening as well. Soon, his chest began heaving as his breath became visibly laboured as he grew harder and harder, cock standing proud and tall against his flat belly, flushed at the head. Precome already leaking from the tip. God...all John wanted to do was lick, taste, touch... Devour.

This was the perfect metaphor for sex, John realized. As ridiculous as it was, it was like fucking. The music and Sherlock blending all together into passion incarnate, debauched and beautiful. Sinful and dark. It was nearly enough to melt John's brain.

John couldn't handle it anymore, his cock was so hard it was almost painful. He didn't give a fuck about the nurse or anything else. He needed to touch. _Now_.

He unbuckled his jeans, and pushed them down, freeing himself, eyes still riveted to the screen as he began stroking his cock roughly, stifling himself by shoving his hand into his mouth.

Sherlock's hands became nearly blurry, he was playing so fast. His mouth opened a little, clearly panting. John knew what Sherlock sounded like while being fucked and so he imagined those sounds accompanying the music as his hand began moving faster.

Sherlock's hips canted forward, his purpling cock obviously seeking friction but not gaining it. God, how John so desperately wanted to throw him down onto the bed and _fuck him into the bloody mattress_.

"Oh...oh god, oh my fucking god" his hips thrusting up, pushing his cock into the perfect grip of his hand. "Ah...oh..." He determinedly kept his eyes on the screen. All he could smell was sex. All he could think was more. More. _More_.

Precome made the going a bit easier, as he added a slight twist to his wrist at the head just as he liked it, stroking the short, almost too rough strokes that always got him off. "Oh...fuck. Sherlock" he panted around the heel of his palm in his mouth and groaned.

He couldn't seem to keep quiet. The chair he knew would be squeaking rhythmically, along with the almost comically ineffective way he was muffling the groans coming from him. He couldn't give any less of a toss.

A quick glance at the wall clock told him he still had at least thirty minutes til the nurse returned. John saw Sherlock's thighs beginning to tremble finely and he knew he was getting close. He knew Sherlock could get off on prostate stimulation alone, especially when _that_ toy was in use and John wasn't far off himself. His balls tightened. He was right... _there_...

Suddenly, Sherlock tore the violin away from his chin with a loud cry of John's name, hot semen splashing upwards onto his stomach and chest. The perfect crescendo.

That was all it took. " _Nnng_. Gah! Fuck! Sherlock. Oh god..fuck!" He groaned as he spilled into his fist, orgasm crashing over him, whiting out his vision.

"John.." Sherlock's voice, slightly cracked, was the first thing that penetrated John's post orgasm haze. He forced his eyes open and he looked at the screen once again.

"John. I love you." Sherlock was saying, looking into the camera, eyes wide. He looked a mess. Still covered in come, hair in flyaway tangles. But there was something so raw and beautiful in Sherlock's face just then that it made John's chest ache. The vulnerability that John only ever saw in him immediately after coming was plain as day on his face and he wanted to kiss him. Those plump, red lips just ached for it. "I'll see you later John. I love you" the video ended.

John took out his mobile and tapped out a text to sherlock. "I love you too"

He quickly cleaned himself up. He put the memory stick into the locked drawer of his desk that housed his prescription pad and a gun (sometimes there wasn't enough time to stop at home on his way to rescue Sherlock from whatever he had gotten himself into) and relocked it. He then got up and opened his office door. As he suspected, the nurse was still gone. He popped into the loo and washed his hands and face, opened the window to his office to air it out a bit, and ate his sandwich. He for _some_ reason, was suddenly starving.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. He saw Mr. Michaelson, and then a teenage boy with glandular fever (he took the news well. Obviously, getting "the kissing disease" was a badge of honour when you're a thirteen year old boy) A young mum with a toddler with strep throat and three more flu cases. All in all, a completely normal, boring day. With an absolutely fantastic interlude halfway through.

His mind kept drifting back to that video, over and over again. Sherlock, in the grip of passion, the music, the lithe body swaying to it...John had to keep pinching his inner thigh to bring himself back to the present.

The tube ride home was a bloody nightmare. Scenarios of him fucking Sherlock five ways to Sunday kept cropping up in his mind without a patient to distract him. He was half hard getting off the train which made the walk to the flat rather uncomfortable. His hands shook slightly while unlocking the front door. He took a deep breath that caught as something got his attention. Music was floating down from upstairs. That music.

"Oh you _bastard_ " John whispered, cock rapidly hardening. "You unbelievable bastard" He took the stairs as quickly as he could, bursting into the sitting room. Sherlock was standing, naked and hard, playing with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes which were dark with lust and need, and met John's gaze.

God, he was beautiful. John had to stand there for a moment and just _look_ at him. Those bloody perfect curls making him look downright sinful. His eyes, caught somewhere between grey and green were twin storms of brilliant colour, pupils completel blown. Those luscious lips and perfect Cupid's bow. That long neck leading down to shoulders dusted ever so slightly with freckles that made Sherlock shiver when John kissed them. Those powerful arms, a wiry strength in them that no one upon looking at him would know he possesses. That lean chest and perfectly flat stomach. The bastard of course didn't have a scrap of fat on him. The perfect V shape that his hips formed. Hungrily, John's eyes followed the small trail of black hair downward from his stomach to his beautiful cock. Fully hard and jutting proudly up from the thatch of hair against his stomach. Copious amounts of precome already beaded at the tip.

"God..look at you" John immediately and clumsily stripped, fingers shaking. Sherlock immediately put the violin safely on the stand next to the sofa as John nearly bowled him over as he grabbed him, pulling him down into a savage kiss, more teeth and tongue than lips.

Sherlock groaned into his mouth, kissing him back just as fiercely. John plunged his tongue into Sherlock's mouth greedily, taking, touching and tasting everything all at once like a starving man at a feast.

He broke the kiss after a long moment and began mouthing Sherlock's neck, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses all over his throat. Sherlock made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh and John felt him digging in against his back, supporting himself up.

"Oh you bloody gorgeous creature" John murmured, voice gone gravelly and dark. "You perfect...fucking...perfect" he didn't finish as he leaned back up and recaptured his lips. "Go. Bed. Now." He pushed himself away and looked at him. "The things I'm going to do to you, Sherlock Holmes"

Sherlock flushed bright red, but his eyes grew only darker and his cock gave a mighty twitch. He turned on his heel and half stumbled, half ran to his bedroom. John followed closely on his heels, closing the door behind them.

He pushed Sherlock down onto the bed, kissing him hard. He didn't allow Sherlock to get used to the kissing before he was breaking it. Sherlock's head followed unconsciously with a little whine.

John merely grinned down at him and began kissing his way down Sherlock's body, making his intent perfectly clear. He was going to take that perfect cock into his mouth like had been envisioning all bloody day.

Sherlock for his part fisted the sheets and watched John moving downwards. "I...I take it you enjoyed my video." His words were nonchalant, but there was a very slight undercurrent of nerves that John was only happy to dispel.

"Enjoyed isn't the word, Sherlock." John looked up from lavishing kisses on his stomach. "You perfect fucking creature, you." He kissed his navel, making Sherlock's skin break out into goosebumps. "You're fucking brilliant. Did you know that?"

"You tell me rather a lot" Sherlock smiled, looking a tiny bit relieved.

"Good. Now let me _show_ you" John moved down further, taking Sherlock's cock all the way down to the root.

" _Christ_! John!" Sherlock grasped the sheets in two iron grips. "Warn me next time you do that!"

All John could do was huff an extremely muffled laugh and began sucking eagerly, moving his head slowly up and down, teasing the head with his tongue, waggling the very tip of his tongue in the slit before swallowing him down again. It was slow, teasing, torture and John knew Sherlock loved every single second of it.

Sherlock was nearly howling and thrusting shallowly, having just enough self control not to choke him. John laid an arm across Sherlock's hips and hastened his movements on his cock. He looked up at Sherlock, who's head was thrown back, exposing his long, creamy pale throat and groaning loud enough to be heard in France. His eyes were screwed shut against the onslaught of pleasure John was providing.

John moaned around him, his own neglected erection pressing against the mattress almost painfully. He thrusted his hips just a little bit to relieve the maddening pressure.

This was the single hottest thing John had ever seen. Sherlock; his reserved, aloof, untouchable, cold Sherlock being absolutely wanton, lost in pleasure. Crying out and begging John for it. He felt slightly drunk on the headiness of it all.

He finally moved off of him, mouth slurping a little. "Don't want you coming too soon, don't we?" He asked, voice roughened.

"No. No...god...John" Sherlock panted, an arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving. He sounded lost at sea, adrift in sensation.

John felt a pang of pity for him. No one ever suspected that Sherlock could be like this. He was a living paradox. A man who could go days without food or sleep, yet luxuriate in silk pants and dressing gowns. A man who's never been touched before John came into his life, yet will melt at the slightest attention to his hair. A man who claimed to be a sociopath yet wept openly the first time they had sex. A man who claims "all else is transport" yet bathes in sensation and wears soft t-shirts inside out and old pyjama bottoms and spends eons in the shower.

He crawled up the bed, deliberately avoiding his erection and kissed his chest, just over his hammering heart. "You okay?"

"Yes. Just...there's so _much_. Everywhere." He gestured all across his body and between them.

John understood and kissed him quickly. "On your knees and turn around. Let's give that big brain of yours one thing to focus on, eh?"

Sherlock nodded and immediately scrambled onto all fours and turned around. "Yes. Thank you" he sighed.

"I get to fuck this gorgeous arse of yours, and you're thanking me?" John gave one cheek a light, playful slap. "You really are incredible."

He reached over to the bedside drawer for the lube, ignoring the strip of condoms. They were both clean and obviously exclusive, but the condoms made them last longer and all John wanted now was skin-to-skin contact. What had started as primal, raw fucking had morphed into something else. Something deeper. It always did when Sherlock was involved.

He lubed up one hand and Sherlock immediately spread his legs wider. "Would you look at that?" John asked, a dark, amused edge to his voice that always made Sherlock shiver. "You know what's coming, don't you? Good."

Sherlock turned his head to meet John's eyes. "We both will be. Coming." His voice already sounded more steady than it had just a moment before.

John gave Sherlock's arse a good slap. "Puns will get you nowhere" he laughed in spite of himself and so did Sherlock after the initial gasp of pain. "Turn your head. That's it" he rubbed his clean hand down Sherlock's back as Sherlock straightened back out and faced headboard.

"Good boy" he slowly circled Sherlock's hole with one lubed finger. "You're already relaxing nicely" he added as he slowly inserted his finger. "When did you make that video?"

"Yesterday." He breathed, relaxing into the breech into his body. "I was bored. And I began to think. And of course..." He let out a breathy sigh as John adjusted the angle of his finger. "I found myself composing...music and then..."

"You were turned on?" John supplied as he slowly slid a second finger in, stretching him carefully.

"I...oh god..." He stilled and stiffened for a moment and then breathed deeply and relaxed into it. "I became aroused at the thought of you...and I....and the song became... You. It's you and I..."

"Fucking. I got that" John adjusted again and found the tiny nub inside him as Sherlock let out a room shattering groan. "You used your favourite toy"

"I did. _Oh_...oh..."

John could feel Sherlock's muscles tighten around his fingers and he ran a soothing hand down his back again as he relaxed.

"I...pret...oh my _fuc_...I pretended it was you" he moved his hips back, greedily seeking more stimulation.

"Oh my...Jesus. Sherlock" John moaned, watching him. "Do you have any idea how sexy you are? How you looked in that video? God...I wanked right there in my office and frankly, the Queen herself walking in couldn't have stopped me. Please tell me you're ready for me?"

"Please. God. _Now_. Please" Sherlock spread his legs even more, positioning his arse higher. It was on fucking display, and John needed to be inside it right this bloody, _fucking_ second.

"You're going to bloody kill me" John retrieved his hand and slicked up his cock, giving himself a couple of strokes to take the edge off, groaning into his arm. "You're going to have me coming in seconds at this rate. Jesus Christ."

Sherlock turned around, nibbling his bottom lip slightly. "It's you who will be the death of me, John."

"Unless some maniac gets to you first." John smiled and shook his head.

Sherlock hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something. Instead he merely shook his head. "Please...I'm ready. Fuck me. Please John."

"You're beautiful when you beg me for it." John leaned down and planted a kiss to the small of his back, delighting in the full body shiver that passed through him. He positioned himself so the tip of his cock was positioned at his entrance. Slowly he pushed inside, relishing the initial resistance, then yield of Sherlock's muscles.

"God...so fucking tight" John breathed as he fought to remain still when fully inside. Sherlock needed a moment to adjust. "You feel so bloody good. So..." He lost a moan. "So good"

Sherlock merely groaned and held still, his head bent and breathing deep. "I...god...John" his voice rose about two octaves, as it always did during sex. Letting go was Not a thing Sherlock was good at.

"I love you. I have you" John petted his back, draping himself over. "I have you." He repeated softly, planting a kiss to his shoulder. "I have you" his fingertips found Sherlock's bullet scar. The one Mary gave him. "You're safe. I have you" he repeated to the scars on his back from his time in Siberia. The ones that never fully went away. "I got you"

"I know. I know" he let out a shuddering breath. "Move. Take me"

"Demanding are we?" John huffed a small laugh as he began thrusting shallowly, not to overwhelm him immediately.

"Yes" Sherlock gasped as he began moving with him in earnest.

"Yeeesss." John moaned and left a bite on Sherlock's shoulder.

The bed began squeaking as they established a rhythm, synchronized perfectly to their mutual noises. Their skin slapping together, John's grunting and Sherlock's breathier moans all mingled together and filled the air as they began moving faster.

Soon John became cognizant of a rhythmic tapping on the pillow. It was the tempo of the song. Sherlock was obviously playing it in his head. John increased the rhythm and Sherlock moved to match. They weren't matching the music. They _were_ the song.

The memory of the music filled John's head and he now understood why Sherlock had composed it. Proof of them. Something that existed that was them both. Sex set to pen and ink and catgut strings and horsehair.

It was all so much. Too much. John reached around and found Sherlock's cock. It was so wet, that John could've thought that Sherlock had already come. But no. It was still rock hard. He began stroking to their rhythm as Sherlock's back arched and he let out a shout.

"Oh...god...oh god!" Sherlock cried out, hips stuttering, failing to regain the momentum they were on. The equivalent of a broken string during the crescendo.

John leaned down. "Come. Come for me. I need to come...fucking _hell_ Sherlock"

Sherlock let out a howl, thrust two, three more times before he stiffened completely and came with shuttering cry of John's name and spilling all over John's hand and the mattress below.

That was all John needed. He thrust one more time before spending himself deeply inside of Sherlock's body, orgasm washing over him, and carrying him out to sea.

When the world began turning again, John slipped gently out of Sherlock who had flopped right down into the wet spot presumably because his arms were jelly now and wouldn't support his weight.

He fell down next to Sherlock and clumsily gathered him, panting into his arms. "Jes..jesus Christ" he breathed.

"Nng." Replied Sherlock who had rolled into his arms and against his chest, pliant as a rag doll.

"I agree." John replied and kissed his sweaty forehead.

They lay like that for a long while, John eventually pulled the duvet over them. They'd get up and have a shower, change the sheets, and probably order takeaway for dinner. But for now, John was perfectly content to hold him close and breathe him in.

"Sherlock?" He eventually asked, one thing niggling him.

"Mmm yes?" Came the sleepy reply around John's shoulder.

"What were you going to say? Earlier. When I said unless some maniac gets to you?"

"Oh. Nothing. I don't remember"

John looked down at him. "You? Not remember? Come on, Mr. Punchline. Tell me."

Sherlock smiled briefly. "It's nothing. It's just that you truly will be the death of me. Someday. I..." He hesitated and John waited patiently. "I won't survive you, John. Your death will mean my own"

Something, a vice it felt like, gripped John's heart and held it. "I...oh Sherlock"

"A...bit not good?" He looked away.

"No. A _lot_ not good. But...true." John kissed his hair again and again. "Because I know it's true of me. I couldn't bear to lose you again. And I understand...how it feels. You will be the death of me as well. I couldn't survive losing you again."

"So. That means we shall go together?" Sherlock looked up at him with a slightly wobbly smile.

John let out a laugh. "Together or not at all."

"Deal." Sherlock kissed his shoulder, his bullet scar to be precise, and closed his eyes.

A few more minutes of comfortable silence ticked by when suddenly a very loud, very long noise emanated from Sherlock's stomach.

"Chinese?" John asked with a laugh and made to get up. Sherlock blushed a little and stood on slightly trembly legs and donned a pair of pants. He always did look slightly baby deer like immediately after bottoming.

"Sounds agreeable"

"Good" John threw on some pants himself and a tshirt. He came over and looked up at Sherlock and into his eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too, John"

"I understand why you composed that song. More than to give me a work time thrill. You wanted tangible evidence of us, of what we just did. Didn't you?"

"I." His neck and ears turned an alarming shade of red, then his cheeks followed suit.

"Yes." "You daft man" John leaned up, and kissed him softly. "You brilliant, wonderful, romantic old sod."

"It never leaves Baker Street."

"Of course not. No one would ever believe me."

Sherlock smiled a bit at that. "So you liked it."

"Yes. Of course. I kept the memory stick locked in my desk. I'll always keep it. You're not the only one who likes evidence, you know"

Sherlock kissed him quickly, they joined hands, and made their way to the kitchen.

Later on, in the wee hours of the morning, John slipped out of the bedroom away from a slightly snoring Sherlock and padded to the kitchen for some water. The moon was full, filling the sitting room with light, and John could make out Sherlock's violin stand in between the windows. He went over to it and lifted the paper off. It was obviously the song Sherlock had just written. Sherlock hadn't told him the title. He looked at the top of the page, and there in Sherlock's scrawling, spidery handwriting were the words:

" _John Watson and Sherlock Holmes: Evidence of Us_ " 


End file.
